


Roughed Up

by scribblemyname



Series: Be Compromised 2014 Promptathon [29]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Celebratory Kiss, Community: be_compromised, Community: trope_bingo, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Injured Character, Kissing, Post-Mission, Romantic Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-17
Updated: 2015-01-17
Packaged: 2018-02-13 05:38:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 650
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2139042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scribblemyname/pseuds/scribblemyname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He kisses her again, warm and soft and just right. She fists her hand in his shirt and holds him close. He moves to her left cheek to kiss a scrape she got from a close encounter with the ground, then to the right to kiss a bullet graze. (It had been a bad night.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Roughed Up

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Crazy4Orcas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazy4Orcas/gifts).



> Prompt by crazy4orcas: [Some times call for kissing for hours and no sex.](http://be-compromised.livejournal.com/412023.html?thread=7811447#t7811447)

The bed dips under Clint's weight as he slides in beside her, and Natasha flinches. He freezes halfway down.

"Moving hurts," she mumbles. "Get down already."

He is careful not to jostle her. "I thought you said you got a little roughed up this mission," Clint prods, gently affectionate but exasperated and concerned as well.

She gives him a look. He should know by now that for her that means cannot safely be moved but will move anyway. Pain is immaterial. "I did."

He shakes his head as though it's Natasha that's being a little dense and kisses her softly as he settles in beside her. She kisses him back, even if he's wrong and she tells him so.

"I could still fight in a pinch."

"But you don't have to."

Natasha makes a small, discontented sound in the back of her throat and props herself up on one elbow wincing, prompting immediate and vociferous protest from Clint, which she ignores. "Will you kiss it better?" she asks, batting her eyelashes as though she actually means it. (It's an act but not a deceiptful one, so they roll with it.)

Clint falls instantly silent and studies her for a long minute. "You should be resting..." he begins.

She gingerly lowers herself back to the bed. Her mouth forms a straight line in the most understated pout he's ever seen. "We always kiss afterward to celebrate a successful mission. I want my kiss." Her tone is surprisingly petulant.

Clint's eyebrows climb higher, but he very carefully sits up and murmurs right over her mouth, "I _did_ kiss you, you know."

"Not long enough," she answers breathlessly.

He kisses her again, warm and soft and just right. She fists her hand in his shirt and holds him close. He moves to her left cheek to kiss a scrape she got from a close encounter with the ground, then to the right to kiss a bullet graze. (It had been a bad night.)

"Love you," he murmurs gently against her skin, then kisses the hollow of her neck, the yellow bruise on her shoulder, the rope burn on her upper arm, the bandaged gash just below her elbow, her sore wrist, each knuckle and finger, then the palm of her hand.

He takes his time, drawing it out, almost as if this is making love even though there is absolutely no way they could actually manage _that_ activity right now.

Natasha curls her fingers into the short spikes of hs hair, and, every so often, draws him up to her level to kiss his mouth again and taste for herself that she's home, she's with Clint, they're together and alive. That's what this tradition of theirs is all about, holding the physical evidence in their arms and hands and mouths and ears and eyes and nose, all their senses, as tangible as possible.

She makes a choking sound when he kisses that one spot behind her ear. He hums displeasure when he asks how she got one bloody bandage on her leg and she admits to having been restrained with cutting wire.

"I'm alive, Clint," she tells him, but he's already kissing it softly and tightening his grip gently on her one good ankle. He too needs the physical proof not the words.

They kiss until finally, she's tired enough to mumble sleepily, "I've got to check in at medical in five hours." She wants four hours of sleep. She doesn't regret losing the last two or three.

Clint nods and curls beside her, cautiously, carefully, barely even shifting the bed. She appreciates the gesture. She _was_ a little roughed up.

"I'd hate to see you injured," Clint deadpans.

She'd elbow him but that would hurt her more than him, so she settles for a glare.

He chuckles and tucks an arm around her shoulders. "Sleep, Tasha."

She wants to, so she does.


End file.
